


The Freedom That Unites Us

by crowscrow (orphan_account)



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Drama, F/M, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crowscrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alloran is back on earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Freedom That Unites Us

**Author's Note:**

> Story Title: The Freedom That Unites Us  
> Chapter Title: Alloran  
> Word Count: 12,099  
> Genre: Drama/Romance  
> Characters: Alloran-Semitur-Corrass, Marco, Eva, Peter, Esplin 9466  
> Pairings: Alloran/Eva, (eschewed and indirect Esplin/Alloran)  
> Chapter rating: R  
> Summary: Alloran is back on earth.  
> Warnings: Slight language, adult themes, sexual content  
> Disclaimer: Characters, quotes, themes, etc © K.A. Applegate and © other people, places, etc. No financial gain is made.
> 
> Author's note: Love Alloran. Need more. 
> 
> Please read and review

Hands glided over ivory keys, all fourteen fingers playing nimbly to Beethoven’s _Fur Elise_ in C major.  The sounds from the great, black instrument were magnificent, mathematical, and deeply moving, even for someone as far removed as he.  In the dim room he played softly, trying not to wake the two humans upstairs, but it seemed his efforts were poor.

            “That sounds beautiful, Alloran,” a woman said.  He was taken by surprise; far more often now than in his glory days.  He no longer bothered to scope his surroundings with his stalks—not since the Yeerk’s defeat and the ultimate removal of his hollowed title.  Ex-War Prince.  Just Alloran now. 

            He took note of the woman in the doorway, her hair tumbling to her shoulders in large brown curls, her umber eyes smiling at him, the left side of her face twisted from the burns she had endured while enslaved.  She continued to speak despite his lack of response.  “God, it’s been _years_ since someone’s even touched that thing.  Peter used to play before we married, and Marco liked to bang on it when he was little…” 

Eva, former host to Edriss 562, the previous Visser One before his own little slug had managed to snatch the rank, slowly approached to stand beside him in what was called the den of her home—now his quarters.  His embarrassment at the mere thought of living with a human couple like their adolescent child gave way to his absolute shame… enough to keep him inside, away from the intolerant eyes that told him how truly disgraceful he was.  _She would tell me not to speak like that_ , he thought, expecting a reply, but then remembered.  He shook his head; _what a nasty habit_.

“I’m sorry, Alloran,” Eva said.  “I know I’m not much for talk.  I’ll leave.”

<No!>  He shot up, his tail-blade grazing the ceiling, scraping a few white flakes to land on his rump.  He glanced back at them with his stalks but paid them no mind.  <No, please, I do not mean to be rude.  I was… lost in my head.>

She smiled the way humans did, her lips curling upward on her face, but her eyes told him everything he needed to know.  Her eyes were laughing, their dark hue gleaming in the shallow light that peeked through his shaded windows.  She looked down—abashed perhaps?—and said, “It must be pretty boring here.”

<No,> he replied simply.

She smiled again.  It was a genuine smile, heartfelt and warming.  It was nice… but no matter how lovely her eyes shone, the expression was near archaic to him.  He had not been graced with a look like that for some time, not since coming home to Jahar… and even then, her eyes were pained, filled with regret at the irony.  The irony… he quickly shrugged away the thought.

As he drifted in his mind, Eva opened her mouth to speak, but stopped, her pleasant smile changing to a frown.  Her eyes turned angry— _no, not angry… concerned._ He followed her gaze with his stalks, intent to see what he already knew was there, and in that moment he could admit to fearing her judgment, but it would do him no good fretting over a human’s disapproval of his current… pastimes.  After all, he was an adult male.  Plus, this species wasn’t even his own.

Yet still, the disappointment in her expression stung.   

His hind legs sagged, and the base of his tail hugged close to his rear, a sign of great shame.  It only made sense… in the end, he was an abomination, a dishonorable outcast among his own people, and now, it seemed, among hers as well.    

Thankfully, she spared him the rebuke he knew she wanted to say.  She stepped close and held out her hand, but he began to morph and she drew back.  His body quickly transformed, his rear legs _shlooping_ up so that he stood on two instead of four, and his hard hooves softened to grow those tiny, wiggling appendages humans called ‘toes’.  Blue and tanned fur disappeared into his skin until there was nothing but bronzed flesh that prickled from the coolness in the room, and his vision changed, becoming limited in range as his stalks melted into his skull. 

When he was finished he went to his sleeping arrangements—a mattress covered with bulky fabrics pushed in the corner—and took some human articles of clothing to dress, but not before concealing the empty syringes he had stupidly left in plain sight from the night before.  What did the human’s say?  Something…  _What one does not see, one cannot reflect on_.  He liked that thought process very much.

He hurried to dress, layering over his bare skin with two shirts, both covering the length of his arms down to his wrists, then a pair of black ‘jeans’.  He liked jeans, but the button at the top was hard to fasten with those clunky human fingers. 

Eva was staring at him.  “God, it’s so eerie…” she said when she noticed him staring back.  Her expression was no longer upset, more nostalgic, as if she were reminiscing.  She swallowed hard, a sign he had learned meant she was bothered or worried, or maybe nervous.

            “Is it the form I have chosen?” he asked.

            She put a hand to her mouth, covering her lips.  “It’s a lot of Marco,” she replied.

            True, the Frolis Maneuver, or the combination of DNA that formed his human morph, had come to at least sixty-five percent of Marco’s unique genetic makeup, but that hadn’t been his intention.  It was merely the way the morph had transpired.  “I shall change from this form,” he told her suddenly.  “It is bothering you.”

            “No!” she said, “Believe me, it’s not.  Or maybe it is, but it’s not a bad thing.”  She looked as if she was going to add more, but did not.

            “Very well.”  He strode for the piano and pulled out the bench, then sat mechanically, his posture rigid.  He could not shake her eyes.

            “Will you join us tonight?” she asked.  “Marco is coming.  I’m making dinner.  It’ll be nice.  A little social time will do you some good.”  She put a hand on his shoulder.  He stiffened.  “Please say you’ll be here, Alloran.”

            He looked up at her, his face blank.  “If you wish, Eva.  I will be here.  You have my honor in this.”  _What is left of it, that is._

Her smile widened, showing those small, white teeth that lined her mouth, and she ruffled the hair atop his head.  He flinched, staring at her in confusion.  It was a human gesture… what did it mean, again?  Esplin never took the time to study these cultural relevancies. 

            “Sorry!”  Her hands shot up and her eyes showed a strange type of terror, as if she had done something wrong.  Was she afraid he would be upset?  “Forgive me, Alloran,” she continued.  “Oh God, I-I’m so embarrassed.  I used to do that to Marco when he was younger.”

            “No forgiveness is necessary,” he answered.  He felt a warmth stir in his human heart at the thought of his own two children, but stopped before he became emotional.  His expressions in this form would be easier for her to read.

            “Alright,” she said as she moved for the door.  “I’ll hold you to being here, then.  And hey, you know you’re always welcome to ask if you need anything.  I know you have money of your own… but please, while you’re here don’t be afraid to… speak up.”

            He gave her a smile and felt his cheeks plump under his eyes.  “I will.  Do not trouble yourself over me.”

            She left, escaping through the doorway into the light while he stayed alone, trapped in his darkened solitude.  He was not afraid to say he enjoyed it either, though his head felt empty and his hands were starting to shake from the persistent need.  But once on the ivory keys, they stopped their trembling, and he played some classical music he had learned within the past six months of inhabiting earth as a free individual—which was _a lot_.  Mostly classical, with some contemporary—Mozart, Beethoven, Elton John, Chopin, Billy Joel, Yoshiki Hayashi, Rachmaninoff, Brahms; their music was pure, whisking him away to other worlds as his fingers, human or Andalite, flew across the keyboard.  

            There were many thoughts while he played.  Most were of Jahar.  Of her grace and beauty.  Of the way she stroked his face and touched her forehead to his, but those thoughts churned his stomach, so he seldom let himself float in their depths, too afraid of the emotional breakdown he knew would soon transpire.  He could push it back, though… if anything, an Andalite could push it back, especially one military trained. 

Other thoughts were of the humans, of Eva, her husband Peter, their son—and former ‘Andalite Bandit’—Marco.  They were a good family, close, laughing as they gathered to eat in the evenings at their ‘kitchen table’.  Though it moved him that they would be as kind as to share their home and family life to the face of their most hated foe, it was still too friendly, personal even.  Eva squeezed his hand sometimes for support, whether he be in morph or not, and Peter would occasionally give him a friendly pat.  Marco would even slap his back and pull him into a ‘bear hug’, a human gesture considered quite sociable, though it would sometimes hurt his shoulders. 

Their benevolence was amazing.

A quiet creak came from the pedals below the keyboard.  His feet were adapting to the flat levers, but he wished for the deftness of his seven-fingered hands, though he preferred, at least for now, to practice his pedal pushing in human form, as his hooves were far less capable.  Playing _Moonlight Sonata_ in C sharp minor, his mind wandered to who it always did—a great foe, a mortal enemy… his hated yet terribly intimate companion.

_Esplin_.

The foul creature was imprisoned, sentenced to live a life in darkness for his crimes against humanity, sightless and powerless in his little kendrona box.  What a horrible fate… and yet Alloran, the Yeerk’s closest victim, now sat alone, his children estranged from him, his friends afraid to keep his company, his title stripped unceremoniously, and his wife—his _Jahar_ —dead, buried beneath her beloved Therant tree.  It seemed an absurdity that evil could lose nothing and he so much.  It was humorous enough to make him laugh. 

So much for the tortured soul’s happy ending.  The ex-Visser floated as if on air in a cell, and here he was, the abomination, Alloran the disgraced, Alloran the detested, Alloran the _despised_ —dying inside over and over and over again. 

His fingers dropped like heavy weights on the keys before the lively movement of the piece started, creating a noisy mishmash of off notes.  He put his head in his hands.  He could feel the onset of moisture coming from his eyes, but he did not let them fall.  Instead, he de-morphed. 

The worst of it all was he actually _missed_ Esplin.  Not in the way that he missed his children or his homeworld or his wife, but in the way that part of him seemed _gone_ without the wretched parasite there.  He felt so alone now.  He thought it would change, that the anxiety and the fear and the lonesomeness would ebb as time went by, but Jahar’s death knocked him so hard he could barely breathe, like the flat of a tail-blade to his ribs. 

And what would Esplin, the little fiend that called his head home for over twenty years, have said of the matter?  What was worse was that he asked himself that very question, as if the slug had any advice or guidance worthy to give. 

He hated Esplin.  But there were times he was so lonely…

“Alloran?”

The sudden call shook him and his tail arched in defense.  A human head peeked its way past the frame of the door to see him.  It was Peter, Eva’s husband.

“Hey there,” he said, pausing in hesitation.  “I, uh, called for you but I guess you didn’t hear.  You, um, wanna join us at the table?”

Alloran glanced at the clock on the wall with his stalks and noticed the absence of time.  It seemed only minutes ago Eva was asking him to join them for the evening, but in truth it had been hours.  <Of course,> he replied.  <Your wife has requested my presence, and I have promised her that I would bring it.>  He gave a slight bow.

“Great, we’re gonna’ get started.  Just waiting for you.”

<I shall morph quickly then.>

Peter smiled, but it was an awkward smile.  Alloran felt the guilt creeping up, knowing how uncomfortable it must be for this male to house another male in close proximity to his family, and a once enemy at that.  To ease the guilt, Alloran did as he said and changed his form as fast as he could, then clothed himself and stepped out into the eating area of the human’s home.  The table was arranged with cloths and painted clay-ware, with clear containers— ‘glasses’—filled and placed above each seating station.  He stood motionless, not knowing what to do.

“Al!” a loud voice greeted him.  “Long time no see, huh?”  It was Marco, one of the human youths, _Animorphs_ , responsible for the defeat of the Yeerk Empire. 

A strong emotion overtook him and he bowed low in respect for the young male, near falling to his knees.  “War-Prince Marco.  It is an honor to be in your presence, my Prince.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Marco replied with an uneasy laugh.  “Thanks for the title, dude, but I’m no ‘Prince’.  I’m just Marco.” 

Before Alloran knew it he was gripped in a solid embrace.  He would never get used to the contact humans enjoyed and displayed, but he returned the gesture without hesitation.  “Very well, Marco.  Please, forgive me.”

“Oh my God, you’re just like every Andalite I’ve ever met.  So serious!”

Alloran could feel himself smiling.  He felt a strange kinship with Marco; the young male reminded him of himself, as least the self he was before his enslaving.  In another life, another time, he felt that he and Marco could have been brothers, and a great pang hit him as he thought of Arbat, his late brother.  _Were that you could be here now to give me your love and guidance, big brother.  I need it now, more than ever_ …  But in the blink of an eye, those thoughts were fiercely suppressed. 

“Don’t get in his face, Marco,” Eva said.  She placed a white container on the table with gloved hands.  “He’s our guest.”

“Hey, I’m a guest, too—I don’t live here anymore.”

Peter gave his son a flat look.  “Don’t be smart, Marco.”

“I am smart, though,” Marco whispered loudly.  Alloran’s smile widened.

When the four of them were seated, they held hands around the table and said a prayer, but Alloran kept quiet until they were finished.  Each made a sign with their fingers over their chests and suddenly they were eating.

“Would you like some of this, Alloran?” Eva asked.  “They’re called mashed potatoes.  Have you had any before?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Alloran replied.  “But I am eager to try your human cuisine.  I am sure it will be exceptional.”

“Put butter on it for ‘em,” Marco said to his mother with a full mouth.  He took a yellow, rectangular stick on a clay-ware dish and handed it to Eva across the table. 

When his plate was piled with food, Alloran took one of the human utensils and stuck it in the white paste then slid the substance in his mouth.  A burst of flavor exploded on his tongue, surprising him.  Esplin rarely divulged in human pleasures, but did, however, try a small amount of human fare, some quite extraordinary, others thought to be formal delicacies.  Some had even shocked Esplin into silence, though it was never for long enough. 

But this was _incredible_.

Rigid, he fought the urge to devour everything placed in front of him, and instead waited until Eva took another bite from her plate to continue. 

“How are things in Marco’s world?” Peter asked his son.

Marco set down his utensils.  “I’m bored out of my Goddamn mind.”

“Hey, not at the table,” Peter scolded.

“Jake’s depressed.”  Marco nudged the white paste around on his clay-ware plate.

“I know, hun…” Eva said.  “It’s hard for all of us.”

In response, Marco let out a long breath.  No one spoke for a few moments.

“You will never be the person you were before this war,” Alloran spoke up.  The three humans stared at him, but he averted his eyes.  “War changes you.  Everything in your life alters into a foreign abstraction.  You convince yourself it will be the same.  That you might be the same afterward, but that is not true and you know it inside.  Most often, you wake wishing the past was a horrible dream.”  He looked up to meet Marco’s gaze.  “Some never come back from war, my young Prince.  Some die, and some never leave the battlefield.  But you are here now.  You are alive.  You have a family.  You have your mother.  With that, you have won ten times over the enemy.  In the end, that is what matters most. ”

The silence stretched after he ended.  Eva stared at the center of the table, her hands hiding her mouth while Peter gazed straight ahead as if in a trance.  Marco looked down, his eyes watery, and Alloran felt an immense guilt clutch at his throat.  He coughed as he drew in a breath and tried to laugh, though it came out strangled.  “It is as you say, Marco, I am too serious.” 

“No,” Marco replied.  “No, that was the most honest thing I’ve heard said about the war since Rachel.”

Eva wiped at her cheeks.  “That was beautiful, Alloran.”

“Amen,” Peter said and raised his glass.  “To being here, being alive, and being with family.”

Marco and Eva both followed suit, but Alloran kept still.  “I have no family,” he said stiffly.

“You do with us,” Eva replied.  She gripped his arm with her free hand, smiling with her eyes, and he felt comforted if only for that single moment.  They tapped the glasses together, and Alloran wondered what the main significance of the action meant, but did not feel like asking.  Soon the meal was over and Peter began to clear both their utensils and food from the table.  Eva offered him coffee, but he refused, saying he wanted to be outside in the fresh air under the stars.  “When will you be back?” she asked.  “Don’t be out too long, now.”  She looked embarrassed for a moment.  “Oh, I’m sorry, Alloran, I didn’t mean it like that.  I supposed I have a weird, misplaced motherhood towards you…”

He grinned in genuine amusement.  “I am older then you.”

Marco laughed.  “Did he just make a joke?  I can’t believe he just made a joke.”

Alloran didn’t reply, but his amusement stayed. 

“Alright, alright, I’m going to go read,” Eva said.  “What are your plans, hun?”

“I’m gonna’ stick around,” Marco replied.  “Catch up on your blue ray collection.  You want in, Al?  I tell you, there is _nothing_ more interesting than watching a movie with an Andalite.”

“Do not wait for me,” Alloran responded.  “I will be... a while.”

The group paused, and for a moment he thought he would be confronted with his… problem.  But no one said a thing.  He de-morphed and re-morphed in his chambers then dressed with shaking hands; the onset of withdrawal was setting in.  He took some human money from his funds—a rather large some he had won in court for his ‘pain and suffering’— and said goodbye to Eva, then walked out the door.

 

* * *

 

The room was dark with garish, glowing lights and loud, thumping music.  Human’s rubbed their bodies against one another’s, holding glasses of strong liquid that burned the mouth and dulled the senses.  He made his way through the mass of swaying figures to the long, rectangular counter and stood leaning against the edge, trying to seem relaxed and at home.  While he waited for an opportunity to arise, he ordered a ‘Bacardi shot’ and tipped it back down his throat.  The liquid was like fire, but he knew it would taste somewhat better after the third one.  As he waited, knocking back 151 shots, a human female approached him and leaned close to his ear.

“ _Hey_ ,” she said with a drawn out inflection.  She wore less clothing then he had ever seen on any human female, and her hair and face looked unnatural, as if it were painted on.  He could tell she was considered attractive, though nowhere near as beautiful as Eva, but what did he know of human appearances?  She got closer.  “You look lonely tonight, babe,” she said.  “Lonely and cute.”

He took that as his cue to say something, but he did not know quite what.  He decided to lie.  “Your features are very attractive, more than the other females here.”

She craned her neck and laughed.  He was unsure of her reaction; had he just insulted her?  Like a metal rod, he stood straight and stiff, waiting for her to speak. 

“You into crisscrossing, baby?” she asked and slid her hand along his side.

Fortunately, he was familiar with this kind of human lingo, and nodded.  He made sure his voice was low before responding.  “I prefer intravenous injection of the opiate by the common name of heroin, but I am willing to forego this if you would favor another substance and means of utilization.”

She laughed again.  “Goddamn, you’re charming.  You wanna’ accompany me to the restroom, Spock?”  Her upper teeth grazed her bottom lip.

What was it the humans said in a situation of luck such as this?  Ah, yes, _bingo_.

Through the swarms of moving bodies, the unknown female took his hand and guided him towards the human waste elimination facilities.  They stepped through a doorway, coming upon two females who stood watching themselves in a reflective wall; he sidestepped as they were aggressively ushered out by his new companion.  After they were gone, the unknown female locked the door and pinned her body against his, pressing her lips into his own and running her hands up his shirt to pinch the circles of wrinkled flesh on his chest.  He submitted to her touching, though he flinched at the icy feel of her cold fingers slipping down his pants.

When she was finished probing his mouth and fondling him, she backpedaled towards the speckled counter and took a small bag from the cloth pouch she had slung over her shoulder.  Inside the pouch was also a scooping utensil, syringes, a hand held device to create fire, and a small sheet of sliver, metal paper.  She laid the tools on the counter and glanced at him.  “Bring your cute ass over here and help me, baby.”

He did not have to be told twice.  Together, they prepared the substance for intravenous injection.  His hands were shaking by the time it was done. 

With subtle deftness, he removed the ‘belt’ around his waist and looped it past his elbow.  Flexing his hand into a fist, the vein beneath the skin began to show, and he motioned for her to give him the syringe. 

“You want me to do it for you, baby?” she asked while tapping the plastic side. 

“No, I prefer to do it myself,” he replied.

She gave him the syringe and he pierced the needle through his own flesh to the ripened vein.  She watched him and did the same, and while she injected her share he loosened the belt around his arm. 

Another moment and he was swimming.

The rush was so intense; warm and relaxing, with colors he could hear floating around his head.  There was no more pain, no more worry, and no more inhibition, and he wanted to stay wrapped in his euphoric cocoon forever, away from the shame and loneliness and self-hatred.

The unknown female said something he could not understand.  He laughed and stumbled, explaining to her how foolish it was to walk on two legs.  She rose beside him and pressed her lips to his.  Though he did not want her touch, he was too unaware to keep her hands away.

She bent low in front of him, moving to unfasten his pants, but she abruptly stopped and stepped back, her eyes wide.  A bizarre, completely insane cackle came from his throat, frightening himself and her at the same time.  She stared and pointed, then shrieked and ran to the door.  He couldn’t remember her leaving, but he didn’t care; the warmth was coming to take him away to where the blackness enveloped his being. 

He only wanted to dream.  _Let me see her_ , he thought in a rare moment of clarity.  _Let me see my Jahar_ … _let me dream of her and not_ … _not_ …… him.

Everything faded to black.

 

* * *

 

_< Your move, Andalite.>_

_Alloran looked down at the game in thought.  Reviewing the last move, he chose one of his white pieces and placed it across from Esplin’s queen. <Your turn,> he said when he was done.  He withdrew his left hand, savoring every minute of the uncontrolled movement, sighing internally.  _

_Esplin took his time, of course.  He tapped Alloran’s right hand and made small gestures while moving to touch a piece.   Alloran laughed. <You’re going to lose this one, Yeerk,> he said, feeling elated—and very, very bold.  _

_ <Oh, you would like to think that, wouldn’t you, Andalite,> Esplin replied.  _

_ <What will you reward me if I win?>  Bold was an understatement—he was being downright brazen._

_Esplin chuckled. <My, my, aren’t we the self-entitled, little Andalite today.  If I felt so inclined to reward you, then what would you request of me, slave?>_

_Something in Esplin’s intangible voice, though making him insanely angry, also made him relax; the Yeerk had a way with delicate tones, quite the opposite of what he showed his underlings. <Stop calling me slave,> Alloran finally replied._

_ <Is that a statement or your request?>_

_ <I bid you call me by my name.  That is my request.>  A small victory, he thought, but one that might give him some hope.  He still had his name; the Yeerk could not take that from him._

_Esplin let out a loud laugh. <But I do so love calling you slave.  Almost as much as I love this body.  Almost as much as I love you.  But not near as much as you love me.  Tell me how much you love me, slave.>_

_This kind of game was Esplin’s favorite.  Alloran did not doubt the Yeerk’s nauseating ‘love’.  It made him rage inside.  He hesitated, clenching his unrestrained, left hand._

_ <Tell me, Alloran…> Esplin said low.  <Whisper it to me.>_

_Hearing his own name being said after so long cut through him like a blade, and he weakened. <I love you, my master,> he said, submitting, as he always did.  <I love you like no other.  I love you like the stars love the sky.  I love you like the planets love their sun.  I need you like the grasses need the rain, and I could not bear to live without you inside me.  You and I are as binary suns revolving around each other, always.  Please say you love me too, for I shall die a thousand times if you do not.>_

_Esplin was silent.  His next words were soft, almost sweet. <I do,> he said.  <You shall have your request, my slave.  That is, if you win.>_

_ <You will call me slave no more, then?  If I win?>_

_ <I will call you whatever you desire from now on.  _If _you win. >_

_Alloran focused every sense he could on their game, his hand shaking in determination as he placed his next piece.  Esplin would not be reading his thoughts; he had to make this one victory count.  The two played a while longer, Esplin capturing both Alloran’s knights, and Alloran snaring Esplin’s queen and both bishops.  It was all coming to an end, but not before Alloran could place his final piece.  Esplin’s king was forced into capture from all sides, having no other direction to go._

_ <Checkmate,> Alloran said._

_Esplin sighed.  There was an odd tinge of longing laced in his discarnate voice. <Ah, slave, you never disappoint me.>_

_ <Alloran.  My name is Alloran, and you will call me by that name when speaking to me from now on.  That was the deal.>_

_Esplin barked with laughter. <Very well.  As you wish.  Yes, I will do as you command.  Mm, Alloran.  Yes.>  His next words snaked out, oozing like the slime he bathed in every three days.  <I love you, Alloran.>_

_Alloran flinched internally, wanting to hit his own face if only to reach the yeerk wrapped around his brain, but his hand was back in Esplin’s control. <Do not say that to me…> he near cried, on the verge of a deep and complex rage._

_ <No, I will say it.  It suits you.  It suits us.  In fact, you will not longer refer to me as master when expressing your love for me.  You will call me by _my _name. >_

_ <_Never _, > Alloran spat back.  He thought to fight, but Esplin was stronger.  He could beg but that would only worsen his situation.  Every way he turned he was trapped, and it dawned on him then that Esplin’s king had not been the only one in checkmate.  _

_ <You will call me by my given name, Alloran,> Esplin said.  <You will, or I will break you again.  Do you want that?  Do you want to be broken again?  I can do it, if that is how you wish to act towards my kindnesses.  Hm?  Very well, let us replay a memory of your wife—>_

_ <NO!> Alloran screamed.  And like that, he was brought to submission, in body, in mind, and, he thought with growing fear, in soul.  Now he sang like an instrument, played by this evil minstrel, his captor, his lover, his torturer, his friend.  <No, please, master.  I’ll do as you command, I swear.>_

_ <Then tell me how much you love me.>  Esplin’s words were so sharp they could cut.  <Tell me how much, and say my name.>_

_Alloran cried as he obeyed. <I love you, Esplin.  My love for you is immense, as immense as a black hole.  I could not bear to be parted from you, even for an instant, for if I was I would truly die.  I love when you take me on the pier.  I love when you take me in private.  I long for the feeling of you penetrating me, every moment.  I yearn for it, I need it.  Oh, what I wouldn’t give to feel you take me over and over and over again, what I wouldn’t do to suffer you pushing inside me now.>  He was sobbing, his words straining and cracked, broken._

_Esplin waited for a long time.  Finally, he said, <Oh, Alloran… you never disappoint me.  Do not weep, my dark and conquered War-Prince.  It is not befitting you… you are strong and beautiful.  You are of a proud and resilient breed.  How fortunate I am to own such a rarity as you.>_

_Alloran bit at the statement in anger. <You would kill me had you another younger to slither inside, to infest and control!  You would cast me aside and never think of me again!>_

_ <Not a chance,> came the cool reply.  <How could you claim so?  Truly, you wound me.  You are my first; you will always be my first.  No one can take that from you.>_

_Like a switch, Alloran came to his maddened senses and flung his words at the Yeerk with all the years of pent up devastation and agony he could muster. <I _detest _you.  You_ sicken _me.  Had I the power, I would kill myself a_ thousand _times just to be rid of you.  I_ hate _you, Esplin, I truly_ loathe _you. >_

_Silence._

_ <You never disappoint me, Alloran.>_

_Alloran broke into sobs again, and Esplin shushed him, but only once.  The yeerk soon became impatient, and his presence around Alloran’s brain intensified.  He clamped down on the controls and began to shout. <Stop your pathetic, female sniveling, or I’ll give you something to_really _weep about! >_

_Alloran shut up fast and withered to the back most part of his conscious._

_The Visser readied the board game once more. <You will play again, will you not?>  The question was in no way a question, but a threat._

_ <Yes, my master,> Alloran replied.  _

_When the second game had ended, and Alloran reigned victorious, he made sure to ask for nothing, but sank deeper into the prison that was his own mind._

* * *

 

A warm sensation pressed on his forehead and he smiled, thinking of his mother, her soft, delicate touch and her soothing voice, calling to him, telling him he would always be the light of her life.  He shot forward. 

            < I have not de-morphed!>

            “Whoa, whoa!  Calm down, Al!  You’re fine; you de-morphed like ten hoursago.”

            Marco, Eva, and Peter were staring down at him, their faces wrought with concern.  He stumbled to get up, panicking.  <Where am I?  Where is he?!>

            Eva looked on with a pained expression as Marco and Peter kept him from standing.  Marco grasped his shoulder and squeezed lightly.  “ _Al_ , Visser Three is locked away.  Forever.  He’ll never get out.”

            Shaking and pale, Alloran slumped back into the cushions they had set for him in the den.  Eva dampened a small towel in water and pressed it to his forehead again, patting the sweat away.  “Maybe you two should go in the other room,” she said.  “Marco, could you get me some cold water in a dish?  And Peter, could you grab me some more blankets and pillows from upstairs?”

            “Got it,” Marco replied, and the two males rushed out of the room.

            <No,> Alloran protested.  <Please, Eva, do not trouble yourself over me.  I am fine—>  He attempted to stand, but Eva put a hand on his chest.

            “You’re not getting up and that’s final.  Lie back and do as I say.”

            Alloran blinked.  In all his life he had never heard a female speak to him like that.  No female would ever dare command a male in such a way; it was just not proper.  But, despite his species background, he did as he was told, and laid against the mass of cushions propping him up against the wall.  He was on his side, uncomfortable, his legs dangling off the edge of the makeshift bed they had provided him, but Eva took to patting his aching forehead and the pain dulled.    

            Marco and Peter came back baring everything asked of them and put the items on the floor next to Eva.  She made Alloran lean forward to place another pillow behind his back, then spread the spare blanket over his shaking body, saying to Marco and Peter, “You two can leave, I think I got this under control.”

            “Are you sure?” Peter asked.

            “Best not to crowd him,” She replied.  “And we’re going to have a very _serious_ discussion.”

            Marco made an expression near to a grimace, but said nothing, and Peter nodded his head.  They both left.

            For a moment Alloran could not look at her, fearful that her eyes would tell him how disappointed she was, though he knew not exactly what he had done the previous night; it was all a blur.  <How did… what…> he tried to ask, but fell silent.

            “What happened?” she finished.  “How did you get here?  Oh, you’ll get a kick out of this, just _wait_ ; my son got a call from Jake, who got a call from Cassie, who was out with her date at a nightclub in the city, who both saw a woman running out of said club screaming at the top of her lungs that a man was melting and turning blue.  Now, since we _know_ you frequent such places, and since no other Andalite would ever de-morph in front of hundreds of wasted people, we had to assume it was you.”

            He stared at her, unable to speak.  Her eyes were piercing, angry, disturbed, and… sad.  He looked away. 

            “Oh, what?  Nothing to say?  Marco had to go gorilla and throw you over his shoulder just to get you home.”  She turned and made an angry noise, throwing the towel across the room. 

            <I am so ashamed,> he said.  <I had not meant to burden your family as I have.>

            “You aren’t _burdening_ us, Alloran.”  Her look softened.  “Not when you’re your normal, sweet, painfully rigid self.  But what you did last night, and when you do this, this _stuff_ —”  She grabbed at his hidden syringes and dropped them on the floor, “you’re just hurting yourself, and you’re bringing it into our _home_.”

            <I am a wretched fool.  I do not deserve the sympathy you have shown me.>

            “You’re not _wretched_.”  She took his limp hand and held it between her palms.  He noted how warm her body was, being so close.  “You’re a person who’s gone through a lot, gone through some of the same stuff I have.  We were enslaved, trapped inside our own bodies, and no one can know how awful that feels except for us and the people who’ve been there.”

            <Yet, you reclaim your freedom and smile.  You live.  I do not.>

            She pressed her hands on either side of his face.  “I didn’t lose my husband.  My child didn’t refuse to speak to me and act as if I never existed.  My parents aren’t gone.  My species didn’t _brand_ me as an _abomination_.” 

            <You have never committed genocide.>

            “So, you made a mistake!  God knows, we all have.  And don’t you think you’ve done enough penance for it?  You did what you had to, you were at war, and maybe it wasn’t the best, but it’s over now!  It’s done.  It’s in the past.” 

            His eyes were wide.  She was getting very close, and the placement of her palms was unknowingly intimate, akin to a deep kiss among his people.  She stroked his cheek and his breath hitched.  She did not know; it was not her intent to stir him. 

            “I don’t want to order you around, you’re not a child, but I’m gonna’ tell you right now—that shit,” she pointed to the used needles, “that shit is _not_ happening in my home.”

Alloran stayed quiet, then bowed his head.  <I despise it, but it takes away the hurt…>

            “We’ll get you help,” she said in a whisper. 

            As her fingers drifted to brush against the base of one of his stalks, he couldn’t resist any longer.  His arm went around her, making her lurch back so as not to fall on him, but her balance was compromised and she collided into his chest.  He held her and stroked a palm against her scarred cheek, running his other hand through the mass of her thick, brown hair, and touched his forehead to hers.  There was a mild awareness of her tensing in his arms, but it had been so long since last someone comforted him… so long since someone told him they cared, that his usual distant demeanor vanished before he even realized what he was doing.

            “Alloran, I…” she started to say. 

            He could hear her breath coming out in short, uneasy pants, and he released her from his arms, but she lingered.  Then, without a word, she took his head in her hands and brought his forehead to her lips.  It was a strange form of contact, but he regarded it as a friendly gesture.  As she stood, he knew his guess was correct, and something twisted his insides at the thought that she would not stay within his embrace.

            “I’m… not really sure what just happened—”

            <I have been lonely and confused,> he replied and looked up.  <I should not be here.  I am disrupting your family and your life.  I will leave tomorrow.>

            “Please, _please_ , don’t go, Alloran,” she said.  “Please.  We love having you here.  And you need help.  I couldn’t stand to see you go without knowing if you’re going to be ok…”  She put her hands to her face, her fingers veiling her eyes, and he considered her for a moment before replying.

            <You… do not wish for me to… leave?> he asked.

            “You’re part of our family now…” she said.  “Of course I don’t want you to leave.”

            He looked away, deliberating.  <I will stay if that is what… _you_ wish. >

            “That’s all I want,” she replied. 

            <Very well.>

            So he stayed.

 

* * *

 

            The next week came and went in a blur.  He lay in the den, feeling sick and cold, shivering, wrapped in a thick blanket hooded over his head and shoulders, a shallow bowl of cool water near his hoof to drink.  His withdrawal symptoms worsened, increasing the longer he went without, so much that at his worst he demanded he be released to obtain the means to stop the searing, needful pain, but Peter locked the door and Marco was ever vigilant, standing at the ready to morph and keep him inside. 

            It was not all bad, though.  Eva spoke to him through the door when he felt at his lowest, and Marco—in the form of his gorilla morph—helped him step outside in the yard to graze, holding him upright as he stumbled and making small jokes to lighten the mood.  Ever thankful and gracious, Alloran told Eva that her son was, indeed, a son to be proud of.  Her eyes started to tear and he fell asleep again.       

            When next he awoke he was feeling better, so he played on the piano for a time until Eva came to the door. 

            “Feeling alright today?” she asked in a quiet tone.

            <Yes,> he replied.  <Very much so.>

            She gave him a warm smile, and he near melted at the sight.  His eyes, all four, darted away to focus on the keyboard in front of him.  Was he so lonesome he needed to attach emotion to another species—another male’s wife, no less?  _What is wrong with me?_

            He began playing Moonlight Sonata.

 

* * *

 

            “You… ready to go… Mom?”  Marco’s voice was distant, pained, about to crack.  Alloran could tell. 

            Living with the humans in their environment for the past two years had enabled this ability, had made it easier to discern their emotions, but somehow he wished he could go back and erase the knowledge, if only to cease the hurt at witnessing Eva’s deadened expression.

            She looked radiant in her satin, black dress, the length extending to her knees, but her eyes had changed from strong, brown jewels of warmth to dulled and dreary orbs that peered out the window while she silently wept.  Marco straightened his tie and cleared his throat, then strode forth to fix Alloran’s suit top.

            “Will you be alright, Marco?” Alloran asked, trying to mask the sorrow in his voice for Eva.  He knew what it was like to lose a spouse; the pain was tremendous.  “Will your mother be alright?”

            “She’ll be fine, Al,” Marco replied.  The young male patted Alloran on the arm.  “It’s just the grieving process.  We’ll be fine.”

            The three of them left to attend the wake in the new car Marco had purchased for his mother.  Half way, Eva turned from the passenger’s seat and put her hand on Alloran’s knee.  He gave her a small smile and gripped her palm; an act he knew was comforting to most humans.  Fresh tears formed in her eyes and she turned around. 

            At the wake, Eva stood in front with Marco and other extended family, while Alloran insisted he sit in the back with the non-relatives.  However, Eva was adamant and clutched at his hand, so he stayed beside her.  As the ceremony commenced tears poured from her eyes, leaving long, wet trails down her cheeks.  He wanted to brush them away, but it was not the place to do so—the behavior would be seen as inappropriate, at least that much he knew. 

            When the service was finished, Eva and Marco stood at the exit shaking hands and exchanging embraces with the leaving attendees.  Alloran stood beside them, caught in the ritual despite his meek attempts to keep the other humans from shaking his hand as well.  An elderly man came and hugged him with a tight squeeze, and it was all he could do to not push the human away.  It was good that he did not.

            “I love you, dad,” Eva said and embraced the man.

            “I love you, Grandpa,” Marco said when it was his turn. 

            Alloran nodded, and the old man tottered off. 

            That night, Marco decided to purchase food for the three of them, and they sat in the living room while watching what the humans called television.  Television was interesting… but the usual joy he received from flipping the channels was lost.

            With tearful eyes, Eva retired for the evening, and Marco escorted her upstairs.  Alloran stayed sitting alone on the couch, fighting the urge to follow.

 

* * *

 

            After Peter’s death, Alloran decided to stay on Earth and help Marco with the care of his mother, to which Marco was extremely grateful.  Eva objected—she couldn’t keep him caged on a world that wasn’t his own, for a member of a species that wasn’t his own, but her attempt to convince him was unsuccessful.  He inwardly delighted despite the sad situation; holding his ground against her made him feel like a male again. 

            Eva was a tough human; after all, she had endured the enslavement of being trapped inside her own body for years, the same as he.  She was burned, her body scarred beyond reconstruction, and yet she still glowed a ferocity even an Andalite warrior could not deny, but the sudden death of her husband had left her hollowed and gray.  The signs of her aging could be seen in the lines of her face.  All the better; he admired those lines, found them attractive even.

            However, the sadness he did not find attractive.  It hurt to see her in such woes. 

            Music played on the stereo as he washed the remainder of the plates from their meal.  The CD was an arrangement of classical concertos, symphonies, sonatas, and etudes of which he had purchased at their local Barnes and Noble.  

            “Barnes and Nobillll.  Nooo.  Bar-baaarnes.  Bah.  Billlll.”  He couldn’t help it.  He did not play with mouth sounds around other humans, but alone he could not resist. 

            Rinsing the suds, he placed the cleaned plate in a machine called a ‘dishwasher’ and closed the door.  The machine started.  Eva had told him he need only _rinse_ the dishes before putting them inside the machine, but he liked to make sure they were spotless—plus he did not mind having something tedious to do.

            His two hours were almost past, so he de-morphed, thinking he would play the piano in his chambers, but he stopped short to glance at the refrigerator.  Bones twisted and cracked as he re-morphed to his new human form—different from the DNA he had acquired from Marco and his parents, older, someone more his age and, as the humans would say, his ‘style’.  When he was finished he opened the chilled, rectangular box for something to put in his mouth and saw the Samuel Adams he had purchased the last time he was at the food market.  He smiled to himself; each time he morphed for the sole purpose of consuming food, Marco would jokingly tell him that he was ‘gonna’ get fat’.

            The thought made him want something to eat, so he took some eggs and butter and placed a pan over the stove.  For an Andalite he was quite good at the preparation of human cuisine, but Marco told him anyone could boil an egg.

            _< But I am not boiling this egg,>_ he remembered saying.  _< I am ‘scrambling’ it.>_

            Marco had simply rolled his eyes. 

            With precision that would never allude to his alien self, he lathered the pan with butter and cracked two eggs on the side.  As the eggs sizzled, he held up the pan and pried the bottle top against the edge, sending the cap flying upward.  He then took a long swig and licked his lips.

            “Samuel Adamsss.  Ada.  Adaaam.  Sam.  Muel.  Mmm.” 

            “I never pictured you a beer kinda guy.”

            He swiveled and almost fell, but caught himself against the counter.  “E-Eva.  You are awake.  I thought you were going to read, and then rest.  I am sorry if I caused too much noise, I will retire to my quarters if you so wish.”

            She slowly approached, her bare body draped in a black robe that drifted from her supple legs. 

            “Are you hungry?  I am cooking scrambled eggs and would be glad to make you some.  Or would you rather something to drink?  I—”

            Her mouth was on him, her tongue dipping past his slackened lips.  He became light headed. 

            She drew back and held his face in her palms.  “Ok, ok, breathe, breathe.  You’re ok.”

            “I-I-I—”

            She shushed him.  Another minute and her hands went to the sides of her robe, dragging the fabric over her shoulders.  He could not breathe.

            “I-I-I… I…”

            “You don’t have to say anything.”

            There was a gap.  Then, “I am… unable to take my eyes from your… upper torso.”

            She smiled and took his wrists, placing his hands on her skin.  It was surprising how soft they felt against his palms, how warm they were.  If he were in his Andalite form they might have fascinated him more than anything, but as a human male he was positively hypnotized. 

            “Human females… magnetic… these… these are…”

            “Breasts,” she said.  “It’s ok.  Relax.”  She stroked his face.

            He jumped.  The sensation was so intimate, more intimate for him than anything else she could have done, and he wasn’t ready.  Holding her, her skin exposed, her breath on his neck, that was nothing compared to the touch of her fingers grazing his cheek.  

            “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I don’t know what came over me.”  The robe was back over her shoulders and she turned to leave.

            “No, wait!” he said.  He stepped towards her, his heart pounding.  “I don’t want you to go.”

            The corners of her lips curved upward and Alloran found himself truly satisfied.  Smiles suited her.  Her eyes darted up.  “You… want to join me upstairs?  I’ve been… kind of lonely.”

            “I have been lonely the past twenty years,” he said.  A wide smile captured his mouth.  “But no more.”

            They walked upstairs with their hands clasped tight and shut the door.

 

* * *

 

            A song played on the radio.  He was unfamiliar with the singer, but he liked the words.  Humming to himself with a smile— _no, I cannot forget where it is that I come from_ —he pulled up to a stop light at a busy intersection and sighed.  The sun was brilliant and the scenery beautiful; he only wished Eva was next to him to enjoy it, but she thought this was something he needed to do on his own.  She was right, as usual.

            Another year had past, and he was beginning to feel more at home on Earth.  There was so much to see and do.  Humans, their vast traditions, their languages, their slang, their arts and sciences, their cuisine, their world… it was, as they would put it, ‘really cool’, though none of it would have mattered if he did not have Eva to share it with.

            True, they had grown close, as close as an interspecies couple could be, but they had not announced an official romantic partnership—though it was certainly apparent.

            Suspicions rose, especially Marco’s.  Fortunately, Marco did not seem taken aback at the idea.  Nonetheless, the young male confronted Alloran with the concern he bore for his mother whilst preparing a meal in their kitchen, asking Alloran if he was merely ‘fooling around’ with her.  The question of whether or not he loved Marco’s mother caught him off guard; Andalites were never so bold as to ask something with such personal weight the way Marco had, but he forced himself to calm and responded with the truth.  _< Yes, of course.>_

            Of _course_ he loved Eva.  And he was almost certain she loved him back, though he would not blame her if she were lying to appease him.  He just wanted to love—he was not looking for it in return.  Regardless, she told him that she cared, and he did not question her further.

            Seasons changed. 

            Summer was lovely.  Fall was enjoyable.  Winter was tolerable where they dwelt, yet he was tired of the cold and had expressed in words—for the first time since living freely on Earth—that he missed his homeworld.  Eva had looked up in thought at the remark, then her eyes flickered in that secretive merriment he so loved, and he knew they were going somewhere exciting.  The ‘Outlets’, a long, open-aired shopping center, was crowded with human families and packs of youths, but they found him a warm, stylish coat that he bundled up in when the snow started to come, whether he was morphed or in his natural, Andalite form.

            Christmas was quite the experience, as Andalites rarely exchanged gifts, and if so were small and non-material.  In the years past he had opted to forgo such events while living among them, but Eva, with her beauty and intelligence, drew something out, something warm and kind and full of laughter, something that made him want to be part of their happiness.  He and Eva had embraced by the fire, his arms wrapped around her waist, the room warm and glowing, delightful, tender.

            And so he began to live once more, day by day, hour by hour.

            Upon the evenings, he and Eva would lay close in her bed, chatting about the past, their future, and everything in between.  One night he finally asked a question he could not keep inside any longer.

            _I don’t think it’s a bad idea_ , she had said, her finger trailing the muscles of his now tanning chest.  _You have the opportunity.  Many won’t ever._

With that, he left the next morning, her good-bye kiss a continual source of courage for the emotional challenge he would soon face.  Parking in San Diego’s large airport, he boarded a flight for Nevada where the United Nations had sentenced their prisoner to life in a specially constructed box.  The thought was encouraging. 

            It was Esplin’s worst fear—to live forever without the splendor of sight.

            Upon reaching his destination, he found a hotel and checked in, then rented another vehicle and drove to the prison facility where Esplin was held.  The process of visiting a prisoner of Esplin’s status was tiresome and tedious.  For the next couple days he sat in an uncomfortable chair within the highly guarded government facility filling out paper work and assuring his identity through documents and other credentials.  Esplin had no visitor list, yet when the time came, Alloran was escorted through to the slug’s cell without difficulty.

            Every step he took made him feel sick, but he closed his eyes and thought of Eva’s face, thought of her beauty, then thought of his wife Jahar, then of Marco and Elfangor, Aximili and the others that had freed him.  He thought of his fellow Andalites, his children, his parents, the poor Hork-Bajir he had done wrong, and by doing so had spent many, many years enslaved as punishment for said crime—it was by a higher being’s hand, that he _knew_ , and deserved justly.  He thought of Earth, of the human’s and their smiles.  And then, he thought of himself, sad, but transformed through his pain. 

            After a deep breath, he was ready. 

            The door creaked open and he was allowed inside.  The walls were bland.  The floor was hard linoleum.  There were no windows, and no chairs, but in the center of the stark, depressing room was a white table.  On that table sat a lavender box, the color regarded among his people as charmed against great evils, a good color; an interesting choice to represent the vile slug held captive within. 

            His hooves clip-clopped on the floor as he neared, and when he reached the table he moved his hand to touch the box, his fingers drifting closer and closer, until a loud, booming voice pierced the quiet calm and made him flinch away.

            <What do you _want_? >

            The Yeerk might not have been told who his sudden visitor was.  Alloran gathered his composure.  <You project superiority even when you are a helpless prisoner, Esplin 9466 Primary.  Oh, dear Esplin, these years have not humbled you.> 

            There was a long pause.  <Alloran?>  Was there a hitch in that angry, commanding voice?  Or was it imagined?

            He stood tall.  <It is I.>

            The Yeerk began to crow.  <Oh, this is too much!  Even after you are freed you come crawling back to me!  Have you longed for me, slave?>

            Alloran noted himself unexpectedly calm in the face of Esplin’s derisive statement.  There was a weakness in the Yeerk’s voice, a frailty never there during the war.  <I am not a slave,> he said.  <I am free.  And I am happy.  That is what I came here to tell you, Esplin.  I am free, and I am happy.>

            <On _Earth_?! > the Yeerk spat.  <And what of Jahar?  What of your children?  Why, they are _happily_ here with you on Earth, I presume? >

            Alloran looked down.  There was no point in lying; Esplin would know.  <Jahar died four Earth years ago.>

            More laughter.  It seemed the Yeerk could not control himself, he was in such hysterics.  <Perfect!  Simply marvelous!  She is dead, and you—you _live_!  Could fate have gifted us a more ironic misfortune?  Oh, wonderful!  And your children?  They hate you, yes?  Yes, you, _the Abomination_ , their disgraced and reviled father—a miserable, worthless ex-War-Prince, still loathed among your people.  Oh, this cannot be real!  This is a jest!  Oh, such merriment you have brought me this day, Alloran!>

            Alloran tilted his head impassively.  <It is true.  A part of me died along with her.  I sought human addictive substances to ease the pain.  But the anguish passed.  And I was graced with the pleasures of love again.  With Eva.  We live together now, and I have human friends to spend the holidays with.>

            <Eva?  Edriss’s _host_?!  You _cannot_ be serious!  This is too much! >  Esplin was howling now.  <She is a _human_!  They are human and you—Andalite!  You have no one!  You are _alone_! >

            <She has brought me tremendous joy.  I am happy.>

            The laughter stopped.  Esplin’s obscure voice grew instantly dark.  <You can _never_ be happy.  Not in a thousand years.  Not without me. >

            It was Alloran who laughed next.  <Without _you_?  You have become even more deluded in your isolation then when you called my head your home, Esplin. >

            <I am a part of you.  Forever.  You and I are like binary suns… do you remember that, Alloran?  Do you remember your love for me?>

            Alloran crossed his arms.  <I remember nothing of the sort.>

            <Why did you come here?>

            <I have told you.  To ensure you knew of my happiness.  That is my true victory.  And now that I have done what I sought to do, I am leaving.>  He turned, feeling strong and secure, but Esplin would not let him go so easily.

            <Stop, slave, I _command_ it! > the yeerk bellowed.

            Alloran, against his will, jerked to a halt at the memorable summons of his body and mind, but then realized he was not under Esplin’s control.  His body was his own, now and forever more.  He trotted for the door.

            <Alloran, _wait_!  Please, wait! > 

            That voice, that intangible, mellifluous voice… he hesitated.

            <Alloran, I love you.  I love you more than Madra loves the homeworld, more than the whole of the Yeerk Empire; I love you more than Kandrona herself.  Without you I would die a thousand deaths of starvation, my body disintegrating to ash.  Please say you love me too, for if you do not I shall be forever locked inside myself… alone.>

            Alloran paused, unable to think.  They had not spoken in over seven years, though it was not enough to assuage the past.  Two decades a slave to this creature, then finally freed, yet _still_ he was a slave, sad and sorry and pathetic.  No more.  Time was the only salve that could ever soothe those years, and with his new home and friends he felt it possible to endure his wounds until, one day, those wounds were be healed.  He turned to see the purple box holding his once captor, once lover, once torturer, once friend.

            <You never disappoint me, Esplin.>

            As he left, the box emitted a furious scream.  Esplin’s thought-speech spilled forth like massive, tumbling waves.  There was pleading, threats, bribery, pitiful sobbing—nothing was below Esplin now, including, as Alloran made no hint of turning back, every curse from every language the foul yeerk had ever learned.  They echoed in Alloran’s head as he made his way out of the facility to the green grass.  There he staggered and collapsed, then wept. 

 

* * *

 

            Morning came.  He shifted under the covers, his back aching down to his tail.  Truly this was not the best way for Andalites to sleep, but he did not want to leave Eva after they made love, so he stayed, de-morphed, then curled awkwardly on the king sized mattress beside her until he could no longer pretend to sleep. 

            It was early, too early for her.  He slipped from the covers and crept downstairs towards their kitchen, his hooves near silent on the hardwood floor—a trained warrior’s skill.  The sun had not yet risen.  The air was cold and the grasses were crisp, awaiting beads of clear dew he liked to crunch beneath his hooves.  He stepped outside through the sliding door and moved to the middle of the backyard, then stood straight and still in preparation for the morning ritual. 

            In all his years as the ex-Visser’s slave he would never forget the simple prayer.  Every Andalite in the military was required to memorize it.  It was ingrained in him, from day one of basic training until he was taken as host to the Yeerk race—now he missed it.  So, after visiting Esplin, he decided to make the ritual a tradition again. 

            The words came without pause as he stomped a hoof over the fresh, green earth.

            <From the grass that feeds us.> 

            He trotted to the hose and twisted the metal spigot.  Dipping the same hoof in the flow, he said, <From the water that gives us life.>

            He turned off the hose and walked back to the center of the yard.  With his head craned, he looked to the sky and spread his arms wide, stretching his body up towards the tremendous, black expanse above.

            <For the freedom that unites us, we look to the stars.  Freedom is my only cause, service to my prince, my only duty.  The destruction…>  He hesitated.   <The… The forgiveness of my enemies, my most solemn vow, I, Alloran-Semitur-Corrass, offer my life.>

            His tail-blade, dulled with age, pressed against his own neck.

            <Am I doing my duty?>

            The blade stuck into the ground by his hooves and he bowed low, clasping his hands together for the closing of the ritual. 

            <Thank you…> he said.

            The ritual was done.  He took his blade from the earth and trotted inside, shivering as he went.  With the heat turned on, he morphed his human form and tied the apron Eva had gifted him around his waist.  She had laughed when giving it to him—it said ‘Real men do dishes.’  It was true, he did do them, and he even dried them and put them away, too.  The joke was not lost on him as it would have been before; he was getting used to humans.

            He retrieved butter, milk, and eggs from the refrigerator, and proceeded to make breakfast for them both.  While he mixed the waffle batter, he felt a sudden, delicate touch brush around his waist and travel downward.  The touch stroked his human reproductive organ, making him sigh as he ran his tongue along his lips and relaxed into the touch.

            “You are _up_.”  He let his head drop back and closed his eyes, trying to sound casual.

            She made a soft chuckle and withdrew her hands.  “And you’re walking around naked again.”

            He glanced at himself, seeing the apron and nothing else.  “So I am.”

            “It’s alright, I forgive you.”

            He smiled.  “Ah, another joke.  I have done nothing wrong—in fact, I have done something that pleases you, thus there is nothing to forgive.”  He opened the heated waffle iron and poured the batter inside with immaculate precision.  “I can never quite understand your race’s numerous sarcasms.” 

            She slapped his rear, making him jolt to his toes for a moment.  _Human companionship customs… so awkward_ , he thought, but grinned in her direction as she turned on the TV.  A news reporter came on the screen, her voice filling the silence of their living room.

            “… and in other news, a bizarre turn of events happened yesterday in Nevada as the notorious war criminal in charge of the enslavement of Earth, Esplin 9466, previously known as the former Visser One, and before that holding the rank of Visser Three, made a request for appeal by reasons of inadequate judicial procedure under the recent Separate Species Law.  The Yeerk’s attorney explained further by stating, quote, ‘My client is exercising his rights as any of us would.  He wishes to be tried by a jury that includes a number of his _own_ peers, not those solely of another race.  Under the Separate Species Law, this indicates that my client’s previous sentences should be null and void, and that another, _fairer_ , trial should take place, one that might shine some much needed light on my client’s motives as a member of a brutal race where choice is not an option.’”

            The screen went back to the reporter.

            “Now, correspondents asked the ex-Visser a number of questions, including why he waited so long to request an appeal, but those questions were denied answer, except for the statement, quote, ‘We all long for freedom in some way or another, and happiness, so I am fighting for mine.’  This is reporter Jeanne Davis for the Channel Six, Nine o’clock news.”

            The broadcasters switched and began speaking with one another before the local weather caster took the screen.  Eva rubbed her face and shook her head, making a short noise indicating amusement.  Alloran had already turned away.

            “He won’t get it,” she said, glancing in his direction.  “There’s not a chance in hell, hun.”

            “I do not care either way,” he replied.  It was true.  He turned to spear the now golden waffle with a fork and put it on a plate, but she was suddenly behind him, her arms wrapping around his frame, secure and warm.  He leaned against her.  “I am not upset by this news,” he said.  “I have become more at peace.”  He took in a breath and wanted to let the subject go, but had to ask.  “Do you have to remind yourself, Eva?  Of how much you hated her?”

            Eva rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.  “You mean Edriss?  Yes and no.  I hated her, but not because she was a Yeerk.  That’s secondary to me.  I hated her because of what she did.  She enslaved me—but there are humans who enslave other humans too.  I hated her because she chose evil and not goodness.  I hated her for that, but I also pitied her, and maybe even admired and loved her at strange moments while she inhabited my head.  But when I was freed I stopped thinking about her entirely.  Now, I think about the present.  I think about Marco and Peter, about my family and friends.  I think about you.  I don’t have time to think about her.”

            He turned and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder.  “I am not upset by this,” he repeated.

            They stood in silence, then she replied, “Good.  Besides, we won’t be here to see any of it unfold anyway.”

            “What do you mean?”  Alloran lifted his head.

            She paused.  “Well… I’ve been thinking.  You know, Marco is on his own now and with Peter gone and you in my life… well, I just thought…”  She was stumbling, but he let her finish.  “I just thought it was time to for me to experience something new, and maybe for you to experience something familiar again.”

            “You will have to be more specific.”

            “You should go home, Alloran.  To the Andalite homeworld.  To _your_ homeworld.  And you should take me with you.”

            He felt stunned.  “You would leave your home and accompany me across the galaxy to a place you have never seen?  With someone not of your own race?”

            “Sure,” she said and shrugged with a half smile.  “I’ve seen a lot as Edriss’s host.  I know there’s more out there than just Earth.  I kind of want to see some of it for myself.”  She chuckled.  “Plus, I hear the homeworld is beautiful this time of year.”

            Nothing could describe the way he felt for her in that instant.  She smiled up at him, happy, excited for their future, unafraid and gorgeous.  He could have gotten to his knees and worshipped her.  Instead, he took her face and kissed her lips.  “You are going to _love_ my planet,” he said.  Then, unable to control himself, he jumped with her hands clasped in his own.  “I cannot wait to show you the capitol and the cities in the spaceports!  They are much greater than your Earth cities!  Oh, and there is also Elupera and the Valleys and my Guide Tree and—”

            “Whoa, whoa, calm down there, cowboy,” she said with a laugh.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited.  You might hurt yourself.”

            “We can visit… Jahar,” he said, now cheerless.

            Eva squeezed his hand.  “I’ll bring her flowers.”

            A mysterious force gripped him.  His cheeks felt wet.  When he brushed his fingers across his face they came back shining and slick.  Tears.  His own tears.  Andalites did not express sadness the same way, but they were pouring from his eyes and he let them fall, embracing the release. 

            “You ok, hun?” Eva asked.

            “How can I ever show you the kindness you have shown me, Eva?  How can I possibly love you the same, unconditional way you have loved me?  I do not understand.  You are of another race, you are of another culture, yet you show me the utmost compassion as if I were one of your own.  You have helped me to live again after Jahar’s death.  You have helped me confront my greatest fears.  You have taken me into your home and loved me.  How?”

            “We’re not so different.  We’ve both been there, you and I.”

            “How can I ever repay you, Eva, my dearest, my love?”

            She let a few soft laughs escape and gestured to the shiny, black, baby grand they had moved into the living room.  “You can play for me… that’ll be more than enough.”

            Removing the apron, he sat on the bench in front of the keyboard, his smile wide and beaming.  Eva mentioned something about ‘burning the seat’ after he was finished playing, and though he did not fully understand the joke, they laughed until he began an uplifting sonata, a clear expression of his joy.


End file.
